Working as a police officer in Mexico

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Fine, this guy didn't really want to die.

Without a bit of a dramatic display, who would know he was "inconsolable"?

When Kennedy died, even the CIA lowered their flag to half-mast.

The Warthog and cannon mouths are just what's needed to treat feigned compassion.

Alex Phillips ran faster than anyone, his head was also pretty good, specifically hiding inside buildings. After spraying a burst from the Warthog, he turned and left.

"Central pseudo-government air force spotted."

The commander seated in the F-111 fighter-bomber glanced below at the blazing flames, as splendid as the year when the alcoholic Nan Yun Zhongyi had four aircraft carriers destroyed.

"Retreat!"

The bombers retreated first, the escort fighters covered the rear, disappearing across the sea surface with the last bit of twilight.

Brigade Commander Alex Phillips and others stumbled toward the port where many soldiers had already gathered, some even initiating rescue efforts.

He pushed through the onlooking soldiers and seeing him, everyone's expression turned complex.

This...

It was like when the Japanese devils saw Mutaguchi Renya.

Looking at the blasted ruin of the port, Alex Phillips stumbled and stamped his foot hard.

"Damn it! Damn it! Real damn beasts!"

He sat down on the ground with a bump... was he actually crying?

The aide-de-camp next to him was completely baffled, awkwardly scraping their toe against the ground.

Nepotism at its finest...

Not a hint of competence.

...

"Hmm hmm hmm~"

Mexico City.

Popovich was in a very good mood, even humming a tune while pruning the plants he tended.

His mood had been good lately.

The commander of the Fourth Marine Division, Rommel, had been killed in an attack—the highest-ranking leader of the Northern Army to die on the drug enforcement battlefield.

The United States side even thought he had done well, with someone from The Pentagon contacting him to offer a loan, using land as collateral.

"Bro, you're really skilled with that pruning, pretty impressive," Aldous Wendell came in, holding an apple, his mood buoyant, mainly because his brother hadn't berated him in a while.

Especially since Rommel's death, he even received praise from his brother, although he might not be able to control the intelligence department again, but there was definitely a share for him in the other lucrative offices.

"Being a man is like being a gardener, one must maintain patience, calm one's impatience. If your hand shakes, do you think you can do a good job?"

Aldous Wendell nodded vigorously, "Brother, you're right, indeed, one must have patience, can't be restless. Here, wipe some sweat first, then eat an apple."

Popovich took the towel handed to him, wiped his forehead, took the apple and bit into it, not bad.

Ding-ding-ding~

The sudden ringing of the phone on the desk was jarring; he picked it up.

Click~

Aldous Wendell, still biting the apple, watched his brother, then suddenly saw his expression freeze, the smile on his face turn dry; he panicked inside.

"You're saying Southern Army ships at San Fernando Port were attacked and sunk!!"

"Waste! All of them are waste!!"

Aldous Wendell's apple slipped from his hand in fright, dropping to the floor, his eyes wide with terror as he looked at his own brother.

Popovich slammed the handset back down, angrily hurling the apple in his hand at him, "What's this about an air raid? Isn't Rommel supposed to be dead? How did you handle intelligence work?!!"

Aldous Wendell shivered at heart, facing that livid countenance that seemed ready to devour him, he stuttered, "Brother, brother, Rommel is dead, he's definitely dead, right, it must be retaliation. The Northern Bureau lost a Vice Admiral; they must want revenge. This shows that our attack had a significant impact; Victor is losing face, and this is a show of his sheer desperation."

Popovich, hearing this "alternative explanation", frowned deeply, somewhat hesitant, but felt it made some sense.

"Brother, now's the time for more Southern reinforcements to head to New Leon. While the Fourth Marine Division is faltering, we need to reclaim the ground. Hurt Victor bad, and then we can start peace negotiations with them."

"But the Southern lost so many ships..."

"Don't we still have a batch of ships in our shipyard? Give them all as compensation, we don't need them anyway. If a problem can be solved with money, is it really a problem?" Aldous Wendell said, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead quite frankly.

"You say it so lightly! Do you have a lot of money?!" Popovich snorted coldly.

Aldous chuckled and lowered his voice, "Big brother, that Asian dude Ye Zhenli you had me contact? He's opened a pharmaceutical company, and the 3 tons of ephedrine carried by two freighters have arrived. I gave Walter White half a million US dollars, and he agreed to work for us. The stuff produced is even purer than what comes from the Southern and the Colombian drug traffickers!"

"Do you know how much we can make if we transport it to Europe and the United States?" he said eagerly, showing five fingers.

"Five times?"

"Ah, bro, what drug trade makes five times profit? How could our margins be that low? A hundred dollars of cost to get to Italy, and when we sell it to the Mafia, it could be worth 5,000 US dollars—a fiftyfold price difference!"

"We're gonna be rich!"

Aldous's eyes glittered, "Forget Medellin, forget the Golden Triangle, it'll all be about us. I'm even planning to try online drug trafficking. It's an internet age now, over 7,000 people have already contacted me. There are gang members and individuals, all of this is money. I've especially invited some guys from a few American gangs to sample in the next few days. From then on, if they want goods, they have to pay up first."

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